


Them There Eyes

by multi19fandom18trash



Category: One Direction (Band)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-05
Updated: 2020-04-05
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:21:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23498176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/multi19fandom18trash/pseuds/multi19fandom18trash
Summary: this is a purely ironic work that I am writing for my own entertainmenthomies like it is kool aid
Kudos: 2





	Them There Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> this is a mockery

I throw my dirty blonde locks into a messy bun as a slump down onto my disheveled bed. My dark green eyes meet their reflection in the mirror on the other wall. In the mirror, they look like the eyes of an old woman, aged from having to care for a mother who was far too often strung out on meth. Just as this thought crossed my ever-busy mind, I heard my mother barge through the cheap pine door that guarded our house.

"Y/N!" she called, the gravelly sounds of her voice brought on from years of chain smoking bouncing off the walls up to my room, "Get your ass down here!" I knew right then that this could not mean anything good.

I bounded down the crooked stairs as fast as my long, elegant legs could carry me. When I reached the bottom, my no-good mother was sitting at the small, decrepit kitchen table. She looked awful, with bloodshot eyes and messy makeup. 

"Y/N..." she said, in an attempt at a gentle voice, though I knew it was just a ploy. She only used this voice when she needed something from me. Usually, it was cash. "You know money has been a little tight recently." _Yeah, because you spend it all on booze and meth,_ I thought. However, my sarcastic tone didn't spread to my face. Over the years I had developed an unusually good poker face and could hide my emotions from anyone. "Nothing has been quite working out for me, financially, that is, and I've received an offer that could make all of the trouble I'm in go away."

This worried me. While my mom often asked me for money, she never told me of the bargains she made with strange people that somehow kept us afloat. "Mom," I used the moniker to try to pacify her. Normally I would have called her Carole. "What the hell is going on?" 

She stood up from the table as she answered me. "Well the other night I ran into some nice young gentlemen looking for something to call their own. I told them about you and they were all the more interested. And, so, you're going to go live with them now. Don't worry, they're very rich." I was stunned, terrified even. The tone she had used to mask her true intentions dropped immediately as she said, "Now go get your shit and get the hell out of my house. You've been a burden on me for 17 years and you won't be any longer. One of them is waiting outside to 'collect you'"

If I wasn't in so much shock, I would have yelled something like _Carole what the fuck you can't do this! This is human trafficking! Slavery!!!_ but I didn't. I couldn't make a single word come out of my mouth. 

"Get moving! I have better things to do than herd you around." my mom was back to her old self, that's for sure. With no further choice, I dredged back up to my room and gathered the few belongings that mattered to me: an old copy of Harry Potter, a childhood stuffed animal. I found a dusty cardboard box and shoved inside it what I could. As scared as I was for what these men had in store for me, I hated my mother, and so with some forced optimism I thought maybe this wasn't such a bad thing after all. 

Unceremoniously, I clambered down those old stairs one last time and slammed the squeaky front door behind me. In front of me stood a tall man, with is back to me, so I could only see his hair. _This is the man who bought me as a slave._ I thought. _One of the men who will control my life forever._ When he turned around, I had the surprise of my life. "Wh-? H-Harry Styles?! My mom sold me to One Direction?!"


End file.
